


Varnish

by the_dragongirl



Series: Sketches [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Artist!Obi-Wan, Artists, Getting Together, M/M, Not even remotely underage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 01:56:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10584000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_dragongirl/pseuds/the_dragongirl
Summary: In the aftermath of Knighting his most unusual Padawan, Qui-Gon and said Padawan have a long-overdue conversation. And make out.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PunsBulletsAndPointyThings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunsBulletsAndPointyThings/gifts).



Obi-Wan maintained the dignity of his new rank perfectly as they returned from the Council chamber. At least, up until they were safely in their own quarters, with the door swishing shut behind them. Then he turned to Qui-Gon and grinned, his eyes sparkling.

“I’m impressed! Only three of them looked like they were sucking on a Roonan lemon! I must be growing on them.”

Qui-Gon laughed, putting a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

“There isn’t a Master in this Order who could deny that you’ve earned your Knighthood, Obi-Wan. And from what I hear, Master Yoda made sure that all of them _knew_ that, and that he would be most personally displeased with anyone who tried to make a scene today.

Obi-Wan snorted, but he grinned more widely, and leaned into Qui-Gon’s touch. It was, Qui-Gon reflected, a frankly astounding change from the man he’d met in a smuggler’s marketplace three years ago. The artist who had invited a stranger into his home (and his bed) had been an angry, hunted creature that doubted nearly everyone, expecting censure and betrayal from all those around him. He had used his Force abilities out of necessity, but never with any kind of joy.

The man that stood before him now was galaxies apart from that one. Physically, of course, his was largely the same. Healthier, without the brittle edge of starvation sharpening his features, but he still had the same red-gold hair, the same ocean eyes, and (Qui-Gon noted, with no small amusement) the same flecks of paint dotting his robes, even today of all days.

To a Jedi, however, the differences could not be more apparent. Obi-Wan practically glowed in the Force, so firmly entrenched in the Light that Qui-Gon was certain only a fool could still believe that his late return to the Order made Obi-Wan any less worthy of being a Jedi. He practically radiated confidence, balance, and peace, and no one who saw him use his Force abilities could doubt the purity of his joy in them. Perhaps he was still notably more passionate than was generally considered proper, but it could not be denied that his conscious meditation techniques (“you might as well just call it art therapy, Qui. It’s nothing that fancy.”) had helped many of the younger Jedi process the recent turmoil in the Republic without risking a Fall. For Obi-Wan, emotion and peace were not mutually exclusive; instead, the two went hand-in-hand.

And he trusted Qui-Gon. That still felt like a miracle, honestly. Given how the Order had dealt with Obi-Wan in his youth (how they had ignored his pain, cast him out, and then failed to protect him from that monster Krell’s greed), Qui-Gon had doubted for a long time that Obi-Wan would _ever_ truly be able to trust any Jedi, even one like Qui-Gon, who had advocated for Obi-Wan before the Council time and again, ever since bringing him to the Temple. To have that trust now given to him felt like the greatest gift Qui-Gon could have been offered.

Obi-Wan shifted under Qui-Gon’s touch, interrupting his contemplation. He grabbed the hand resting on his shoulder, turning it palm up in front of him. Then he reached into his belt pouch, pulled out his coiled Padawan braid, and placed it in Qui-Gon’s hand.

“You should have this,” Obi-Wan said softly, folding Qui-Gon’s fingers around it. “Without you, I never would have been allowed to return here. You have given me back the life I dreamt of, and I will forever be grateful and honored to have been your student.”

Qui-Gon looked down at the braid in his hand, rubbing a thumb over the silk of it, and fighting back a sudden swell of emotion. He had thought Obi-Wan’s trust was the greatest gift he would ever receive. He was wrong.

“The honor was mine, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon murmured, his voice thick. “You earned this. I was only ever correcting the Order’s mistakes.”

“Mmm,” Obi-Wan replied, not conceding the point, but not arguing it either.

Then he looked Qui-Gon in the eye, his expression somewhere between a challenge and a dare, and very deliberately brought the closed hand up to his mouth to place a soft, lingering kiss on Qui-Gon’s wrist.

Qui-Gon felt himself go hot, and he shivered. They hadn’t...not for all these years, not since that first night, when Qui-Gon had awoken sated and sweaty in a beautiful stranger’s bed, only to find that stranger standing at an easel across the room, painting, in the most complex form of conscious meditation that Qui-Gon had ever witnessed. Oh, Obi-Wan had offered several times in their first month together, but Qui-Gon had always refused, gently, but firm in his conviction. And after that first month, the offers had ceased. Now, though…

Obi-Wan broke off the kiss, and raised an eyebrow at Qui-Gon. “What? Not going to tell me it’s inappropriate, and that I should focus on adhering to the Code? Or some other such excuse to explain why you don’t want me anymore?”

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon murmured, his voice breaking slightly on the name. He cleared his throat, and tried again. “Obi-Wan, it was never about me not wanting you.”

“Oh?” Obi-Wan asked, the challenge clear in his voice. “So, what, do you just make a habit of turning down people who proposition you, even when they are rational, sentient adults who are perfectly capable of making their own decisions, and to whom you are, in fact, attracted?”

“Not exactly,” Qui-Gon said, gently tugging his hand free from Obi-Wan’s grip. He rubbed a thumb over the Padawan braid again, then tucked it carefully into his own belt pouch. “I would have thought my reasons were obvious, though.”

“They weren’t,” Obi-Wan said flatly. “I was long past being a child when we met, Qui-Gon, and I never needed you to make my decisions for me.”

Qui-Gon sighed. He brought a hand up to cup Obi-Wan’s cheek, brushing against the mole under his eye. “No, you didn’t. But there were other things you needed. Things which I could only give you as your Master.”

Obi-Wan didn’t pull away from Qui-Gon’s touch, but he did narrow his eyes. “Explain.”

Qui-Gon smiled, but there was sadness underlying the expression. “Krell took so much from you, Obi-Wan. You should have been a Padawan long before our paths ever crossed. Instead, you were made to feel unworthy of life the Force intended for you. You were sent away, and abandoned, without the support and protection you should have had even if you weren’t destined to be a Jedi.”

Obi-Wan was watching him, unmoving. The betrayal still haunted him, Qui-Gon knew, even if he had achieved some measure of peace about it.

“But then the Force brought our paths together, and I had the opportunity to give you back some of what you were owed. I wanted...no, I _needed_ to do that, both for your own sake, and for the sake of the Jedi as a whole. And for that to happen, I needed to be your teacher.”

Qui-Gon looked away. “I couldn’t be your Master and your lover both. And I thought...well, you’re a beautiful man, Obi-Wan, and far younger than I. I didn’t think it would hard for you to find someone else.”

A hand touched Qui-Gon’s cheek, turning his gaze back to Obi-Wan’s face. To Qui-Gon’s relief, he was smiling again.

“Idiot,” Obi-Wan said. “That is the stupidest, most needlessly self-sacrificing thing I’ve ever heard from you.”

He pulled Qui-Gon in towards him, until their faces were no more than a breath apart. “And I think I might just love you for it,” he whispered against Qui-Gon’s lips.

Then he was kissing Qui-Gon, and oh, sweet Force, it felt just as it had three years ago, when Obi-Wan had just been a beautiful stranger fascinated with Qui-Gon’s face. Though perhaps, Qui-Gon reflected, as Obi-Wan licked his way into Qui-Gon’s mouth, it was somewhat sweeter this time, holding the familiarity of three years of affection and friendship.

 _So, how about it, Master Jinn?_ Obi-Wan asked through their training bond, not bothering to break off the kiss. _I’m not your student anymore. Care to move this to a bed, and have a REAL celebration of my Knighting?_

Qui-Gon’s reply, though wordless, was unquestionably in the affirmative.


End file.
